


Into the blue

by darthregina



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: F/F, If I continue this, more people will show up and I will tag them accordingly
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-05
Updated: 2013-11-05
Packaged: 2017-12-31 13:59:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,343
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1032505
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/darthregina/pseuds/darthregina
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A swimmer newly arrived in town, Mulan has joined the swim team at her new high school. From the start she has aimed high in her goals and driven herself towards them. After competing in her very first race, Mulan meets a student that might change her opinion of the town and impact her swimming career.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Into the blue

**Author's Note:**

> I am probably going to continue this, but I wont promise anything until I finish the longer piece I'm working on. Also I really really wanted to write a first person story about Mulan because it lets me explore her character better. Either way I hope you like it!

I dive into the pool before my entire team, greeting the pristine waters as I do every time I enter—with a snarl half between a roar and a growl, and then I begin my lope down the pool. The water rushes by my ears tumbling about and crashing to become the peaceful lull of motion I know so well. The only other sounds that reach my ears are those of my feet relentlessly beating the water in a fast flutter kick and of my arms slicing into the waveless water beyond my head.

The water caresses my body as I slide forwards nearing the wall for my turn—as it should. She has been my mother for far longer than any of my team-mates have known her. I dominate the water, controlling its every motion and mine as I swim, twisting and turning, throwing my hands above me as I flip my body over and around. I feel each and every muscle in my body pulling and relaxing in a perfect pace with the rest of me.

Each stroke is perfect, controlled, and fluid as I pace through the water. My shoulders roll seamlessly, and I know from above, they look like the muscular beat of a cheetah’s prance. My hands take the water, softly, and in one motion pass it behind me to join its full body once again before my feet pas by and shred the water in my rapid pace.

I point my toes at the turn and feel my arms rush and flow as my body rotates once more, ending a perfect distance from the wall for me to shove off. My arms capture my head in a dangerously tight embrace and, as I undulate forwards, I begin to feel the burn, the lack of oxygen begging me to breathe, yet I push on. Now is not the time to breathe, not yet…not yet, NOW! I rotate my head to the side and swiftly fill my lungs with the fuel I need to carry on.

Some laps later I reach the end of the pool once more, and I am satisfied. My limbs are warm and I am prepared for the race. With a quick heave I vault out of the water and find my towel lazing on top of my bag so I can dry off before stretching out as the meet begins.

Today is the day. The first meet day. And the last day for many of those names above me.

I look at the record board as I wait, and meaningless names stare back at me—not _unfamiliar_ names, for I have this entire board memorized. Each time. Each swimmer. Each date. And I will beat them all. Had I grown up here, perhaps I would have fond memories of these swimmers, some recent, others older and I might feel some regret at ruthlessly replacing them, but instead I feel a great joy. Liberation. I will brand my name on the board for all to see, and they will _all_ know who I am and what I can do.

They all stand for the pledge of allegiance. I rise as well and raise my hand to a position of respect, but I do not say the words. This is not my country, and these are not my people. Perhaps one day, they will be, but this is not that day. Today is my day. My _first_ day.

The first relay of the meet passes and then the 200 freestyle ends in rapid succession. My team-members swim admirably well considering, but none are truly special. As the pool clears for the 200 individual medley, I shake my limbs out once more and breathe deep. This race is mine for the taking, so what need have I for meaningless, _useless,_ pre-race rituals. What need have _I_ for superstition?

I look down and admire my suit’s sleek exterior as I put back on my cap and goggles. All black with a single silver streak curving around from my left shoulder to my right hip, the suit looks nearly lethal. Like the eyes of a jungle cat gleaming brightly as it pounces from above, only a gleam of light shines forth. Our caps as well were simple, black, with our team initial in tiny script in white on the sides. My goggles, I’d chosen to complete the look; with black mirrors my Swedes completely concealed my eyes, and with my placid exterior, I imagined I must look like a cruel huntress. Calm, quiet, and lethal: exactly what I truly was.

As we wait, I look over at my competition. She looks small, most likely a freshman not yet hit her first real growth spurt, and she is shaking uncontrollably. I consider for a moment and then, wiping a smile onto my face, I extend my hand. My voice low and soft like a lion about to spring I encourage her, “Good luck. I’m sure you’ll do great.” She smiles back, breathing out slowly and then thanks me before wishing me the same.

Soon after, the race is announced and the audience falls silent as the announcer blows his whistle, asking us to step up onto the blocks. A calm settles over me and I rest, waiting for the command to prepare. The noises inside the pool area fade away, not because I hear less or because I am focusing for only one sound, but because the audience gathered is holding their breaths. They know what is going to happen. Moments later the signal comes. “Take YOUR Mark!” I come down and hold, feeling my legs coil behind me as I set, ready to launch off the blocks.

The siren sounds and the predators give chase. With a pull from my arms and a great thrust of my legs I am flying—head up and arms back like a hero, before I bend at the waist angling my head and snapping my arms up as I soar down to the pure water below.

A mumbling rush greets my ears as the water welcomes me back before she lulls me once more as I glide underwater, dolphin kicking madly before my arms begin. I break free from the water, and, once more for a second, I fly as I fill my lungs with air and dive back into the water below. The power of my own strokes is encouraging and I build speed until I reach the wall where, as I reach and touch, I slip one hand below the other leaving my right to slide up and around my head. My body torques in the water and I flip, leaping back out off of the wall and underwater for another whispered lullaby. My arms resume their wild pace and a slow burn rises inside.

Ignoring the pain, I reach out for the wall yet again as I execute a perfect second turn and dolphin kick off the wall on my back. My shoulders are loping again, underwater this time, as I charge down my lane swimming backstroke. This time—this lap—I hear it. A repeating beat, the sound of drums and guitar, and the loud chanting of a single word. My team mates are stomping and playing “ _Thunderstruck”_ at the end of my lane. I allow myself a slight smile as I power into the wall, flip over and dash back out. My legs are begging for relief now, but that comes after, only ever after my race, and I kick them even harder.

My fourth turn is seamless as I reach back and touch the wall before flipping over to transition into breaststroke. As I glide underwater, toes pointed and arms clasped tightly above my head, I exhale. And then with the speed of a falcon diving for its prey I kick once and then pull my arms down to my sides as I dart forwards in the water. My arms snake back above my head in time to begin my stroke once more. I cannot see my team-mates at the end as they chant, but each time I lift my shoulders on a stroke, I hear them screaming.

I must be doing well.

It becomes hard to stay underwater for my pull off of my fifth turn, but I force my head to stay down and instead of my screaming lungs I focus on my body position. Undulate with each stroke. Head down. Arms in front. Reach. Glide. Pull _faster!_ Each stroke burns like the tearing of an eagle’s beak yet I drive forward, pulling faster with each stroke as I head into my sixth turn.

By the time I reach that wall, my arms feel dead, useless. I still reach out and brush the wall, softly, as if caressing the face of a lost loved one. Then I am rotating once more in and then right back out, off of the wall. The pain is worse but I grit my teeth, challenging the water. It will _not_ defeat me today. _Only one more lap._ My arms will have to wait.

This, front crawl, is my favorite of all the strokes. I prowl through the water confidently, knowing my competition lies far behind. It is of no concern, however; I and the water am the real competition here. I count my few breaths, savoring each one as my race’s end nears. One more till the wall, hold… Wait. Now, breathe. _FASTER!_ I throw my seventh and final turn, and then I am off the wall dolphin kicking to my last whispered song and into the final stretch.

My first and last breath of the lap is at the red line, the mid-pool marker, and from there I attack the wall, charging with every ounce of strength I have left. I kick, kick, stroke, kick, _reach, TOUCH_ , and then my race is over.

A gasp goes up from the crowd and I look at the scoreboard. With a 2:03:13, I smashed the high-school record to pieces, and the crowd was ecstatic. I could see my coach whooping and cheering on the side as the assistant coach gaped at the clock. They both pointed at me and raised their fists high. I answer them with my own, a single smile gracing my lips fleetingly before I return to my placid demeanor.

My opponent finishes nearly half a minute later. She smiled ruefully at her time before reaching her hand out to me. I shook it and nodded at her, not unkindly. “Congratulations!” She shook her head at me, grimacing slightly and I retracted my hand.

“Not the time I was hoping for, but there is always another meet for that.” She finishes cheerfully. “But you! That was an amazing swim! Congratulations again!” I nod and smile before I turn and vault out of the pool. My team-mates crowd around offering hugs and high-fives of their own, and I wade through the crowd of friendly faces until I reach the secluded area beyond where I am able to stretch in peace.

_Epilogue:_

While usually empty because of its secluded location, my favorite spot has been invaded; today someone is waiting for me. Her hair is dark, perhaps brown but in the lighting I cannot quite tell, and it is streaked with a vibrant red from her roots to tips in places, yet her outfit is formal, far too warm for the pool’s heated atmosphere. Her head turns as the water dripping from my suit alerts her to my presence and I recognize her—this girl sits in the hot tub here after running in the mornings. I have seen her here every day that I had come to swim since school had started.

Today, she stands up and introduces herself with a bright laugh and a cheery smile. “Hello there! I’m Aurora, well,” she cocks her head to the side innocently, “Rory for short; most people call me that.”

“Hi.” Surprise at her presence and resentment from being intruded on adds a cutting tone to my voice and she notices, her sweet smile fading away. I’d not intended to deviate from my typical calm yet her presence itself was surprisingly un-nerving.

I grab my towel from the bag next to her and begin to dry off as she slowly begins to talk. “Well, uh, that was a really, _truly,_ amazing swim out there and I know you have other races today but I was wondering if you would meet me after the meet, sometime? To talk of course, I’m uh in the yearbook and we want to talk about you…also the paper, too, right.” She stutters and shifts uncomfortably, talking even slower as she nears the end. I do not answer and I can feel her becoming fearful in the silence between us.

She shifts awkwardly from foot to foot, waiting, and I stare straight at her. Unlike most people in this new town, she holds my gaze, staring straight back at me. Eventually, with a sigh she gives up and turns away. “Well, good luck later I guess…”

“Mulan.” My words surprise her and she turns, eyebrow poised.

“Beg pardon?”

I step forward and offer my hand, not like I’d offered it to my competitor, but softly. She takes it gingerly and smiles broadly at me. A surprising warmth fills me as I smile back. “I’m Mulan. When would you like to meet?”

When she pulls a calendar from out of her purse to schedule a time with me, I see her slip her tongue out of her mouth and lick around to the opposite corner of her lip before she gnaws on it. She flips pages like that for a few moments before she finds a suitable day, and we schedule a time.

After she leaves, I focus on my upcoming events: the freestyle relays and my 100 fly. One more record has yet to be broken today, yet I cannot focus as completely on my task as I had before I’d met Aurora.


End file.
